“She is dead—­she died more than eighteen years ago.”

“Ah! where did she die?”

“Abroad—­in London.”

“Did she leave any heirs?”

“She died in giving birth to her only child.”

“Did the child live?”

“I—­believe so.”

“Was it a son or a daughter?”

“The latter.”

“What became of her—­where is she now?”

“I do not know—­I do not care!” were the vicious words which burst from the woman’s white lips, and Mr. Corbin saw that she was greatly excited, while everything that she had said thus far went to corroborate the statements Mona had made to him regarding her mother.

“But, my dear madame,” Mr. Corbin said, soothingly, “while I do not like to trouble you, or recall painful memories, cannot you see that it is my duty to sift this matter and avail myself of whatever information I can get?  If Miss Forester was married and had a child, that child, if living, is Homer Forester’s heir, and I must find her.  Now, if you know anything about these people that will assist me in my search, it becomes your duty to reveal it to me.”

“I cannot; I do not know of anything that will assist you,” sullenly returned Mrs. Montague, who was mentally reproaching herself in the most bitter manner for having allowed herself to be taken so unawares and to betray so much.

“Whom did the lady marry?” persisted Mr. Corbin.

“I will not tell you!” passionately exclaimed his companion.  “Oh, why have I told you anything?  Why did I acknowledge that I even knew Mona Forester?  I should not have done so, but you surprised the truth from me, and I will tell you nothing more.  I hated the girl, and though I have never seen her, I hate the child on her account, and I would not lift even a finger to help her in any way.”

“Are you not unreasonably vindictive, Mrs. Montague?” mildly asked Mr. Corbin.

“Unreasonable or not, I mean what I say, and Homer Forester’s money may be scattered to the four winds of heaven for any effort that I will make for Mona Forester’s child,” was the dogged response.

“Do you not see that I must learn the truth?” the lawyer asked, with some sternness, “and though I am averse to using threats to a lady, if you will not tell me voluntarily I shall be obliged to use means to compel you to reveal what you know.”

“Compel me!” repeated Mrs. Montague, confronting him with haughty mien.  “You cannot do that.”

“But I can, Mrs. Montague,” Mr. Corbin positively asserted.  “Since you have acknowledged so much, and it is evident that you could reveal more, you can be compelled, by law, to do so under oath.”

“You would not dare to adopt such stringent measures with me, after all the business that I have thrown into your hands,” the woman said, sharply, but growing white about the mouth.

“My duty is just as obligatory to one client as to another.  I am under as much obligation to carry out the conditions of Homer Forester’s will as I am to be faithful to your interests,” the lawyer replied, with inflexible integrity.